She believed that even the slightest twitch in his body was a result of intricate motion of countless gears and wheels. His fabrication was perfectly aligned with and governed by facts and undeniable logic. The robot could not feel. He could not emote. He could not express. He fed off his lack of emotions. It was the source of his strength and the root of his downfall.
After meticulous analysis he concluded that the butterfly gathered all her might to stay unfettered every day of her life. Flapping her radiant glistening wings, she would take the course set by the winds, no matter where, no matter how unpredictable. Maybe that's why even her creators couldn't identify a sequence or pattern for the course of her flight. If she had her way, she would cover all flora that existed. Sadly, she could not see that her zeal often converted into impetuosity.
The two spent an inordinate amount of time wondering if they were alike. Both thought one's basic structure antithetical to the other's. One not restrained by any boundary, the other devoid of all emotions.
On that fateful day, the robot helplessly saw the butterfly fly away in the subway along an atypically methodical path, as a teardrop rolled by his cheek. Years later, as if in a long-forgotten dream, they would realise that the two were more alike than they ever imagined.
